PS 

3525 

M613s 


Songs  of  the 
Irish  Revolution 

and 

Songs  of  the 
Newer  Ireland 


William  A.  Millen 


/ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SONGS   OF   THE 
IRISH  REVOLUTION 

AND 

SONGS   OF  THE 
NEWER  IRELAND 

BY 

WILLIAM  A.  MILLEN 


BOSTON 

THE  STRATFORD  CO.,  Publishers 
1920 


Copyright   1920 

The  STRATFORD  CO.,  Publishers 
Boston,  Mass. 


The  Alpine  Press,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


Drfttratimt 


TO 

ONE  OF  MY  OWN  IN   SLIGO  THROUGH  WHOSE  KINDNESS 

AND  CONSIDERATION  I  WAS  BROUGHT  TO  ERIN 

AND    WHO    THUS    MADE    THIS 

UNDERTAKING  POSSIBLE 


1713863 


FOREWORD 

teer  movement.  The  climax  came  in  the  Rebellion 
of  Easter  1916!  The  Irish  Revolution,  as  it  is  some 
times  termed,  was  fraught  with  deeper  significance 
than  the  majority  of  men  could  see. 

The  general  unrest  in  Ireland's  metropolis  caused 
an  anxious  parent  to  recall  me  to  the  land  of  my 
birth  and  early  upbringing  —  the  United  States  of 
America!  Still,  the  great  trend  of  Irish  Republican 
thought  swept  on  and  carried  the  country  in  the 
General  Election  of  December  1918.  But  little  over 
two  years  were  required  to  forge  the  stubborn  iron 
of  public  opinion  in  the  furnace  of  the  Newer  Ire 
land  spirit!  The  procrastinating,  promising  puerile 
Ireland  of  Redmond  and  Dillon  became  the  active, 
achieving  and  alert  Ireland  of  the  Easter  Week 
martyrs,  of  De  Valera  and  Arthur  Griffith! 

A  better  era  for  Erin  is  dawning,  for  within  the 
Republican  fold,  no  creed  nor  class  privilege  prevails. 
In  my  student  days  in  Dublin,  I  used  to  see  the  law 
students,  dusky  and  turbaned  from  far-off  India, 
wearing  the  Sein  Fein  tricolor!  It  is  my  humble 
opinion  that  the  National  University  of  Ireland  (my 
own  old  Alma  Mater)  will  be  the  salvation  of  the 
country.  I  wonder  if  Ireland's  critics  remember  that 
the  leaders  and  martyrs  of  the  Volunteer  movement 
were  men  of  learning  and  respectability  —  that  many 
of  the  rank  and  file  were  college  men!  I  have  the 
faith  that  the  alumni  of  N.U.I,  shall  very  soon  come 
to  be  a  force  in  the  land.  May  Ireland  be  raised  to 
that  degree  of  perfection  to  which  all  good  Irishmen 
in  particular,  and  every  true  citizen  of  the  world  in 
general,  would  have  her  in  reality.  She  is  already 
so  in  our  thoughts  and  ideals.  Erin  Go  Bragh: 
GOD  SAVE  IRELAND. 

U.  S.  S.  Aulick,  October  31,  1919. 
vi 


Contents 

Foreword *   .      v 

Prologue        ........     ix 

The  Newer  Ireland 1 

PART  I 
AT  THE  DAWNING 

The  Patriot  Martyrs  of  1916      ....      5 

A  Lonely  Lamentation         .        ...  .      8 

The  Message  of  the  Dead     .        .        .        .  .      9 

The  Muse  of  Mars       .        ...        .  .13 

Erin  Free  —  Erin  Glorified          »        .        .  .    15 

To  a  Rebel  Patriot  Leader          .        .        .  .    16 

June  —  the  Artist  at  Eventide     .        .        .  .18 

PART  II 
ECHOES    OF   ERIN 

The  Awakening     .        .'•'..        .        .  .21 

The  Return  of  the  Celts      .       ..        .        .  .    22 

Mankind's  University       '.   •  ^  ',  »        *        .  .    24 

Saint  Patrick's  Day  at  Sea      •...-..        .  .26 

Protean  Land       .        .        .        «        .        .  .27 

A  Celtic  Christmas       .        .....  .29 

A  Keen  for  the  Castle  of  Breffny      .        .  .    .    32 

The  Spark     .        .     '  .        .        .        .        .  .    34 

The   Sacrifice        .        .        .        .        .        .  .    36 

The  Eve  of  All  Hallows  in  Erin         .        .  .    37 

Caed  Mile  Failte          .        .        .        .      V  .40 

The  Vision  of  Granuale       .        »        .        .  .42 

vii 


CONTENTS 

The  Stranger's  Castle 44 

The  New  Irish  Brigade         .        .        .        .        .46 

Cardinal  Newman 49 

Sons  of  the  Younger  Ireland       .        .        .        .51 

The  Power  of  Blood 53 

Erin,  Saint  Patrick's  Crown  of  Joy    .        .         .55 

My  Fettered  Bride 57 

The  Queen's  Harp 58 

Bells  of  Sligo  Cathedral 59 

Lough  GiU 61 

The  Spirit  of  Summerhill 63 

Daybreak 65 

Erin's  Easter  Bells 66 

L 'Envoi  68 


Vlll 


Prologue 

Oftentimes,  around  the  fires  of  memory, 

The  scenes  and  friends  I  used  to  know, 
Come  from  the  shadow-land  of  Yesterday, 

And   live   again,   in   Fancy's   roseate   glow: 
And  then  ere  yet  we  set  forth  on  the  morrow 

To  pioneer  our  way  across  the  plains  untrod, 
I  think  me  of  my  boyhood's  days  in  Sligo, 

And  neath  the  moon,  I  see  an  olden  church  of  God : 
I  see  the  neat  and  whitewashed  cottages 

Where  in  my  teens  my  errant  feet  once  led  — 
The  lakes,  the  mountains  and  the  villages: 

The  pastures  where  the  strapping  kine  were  fed. 
I  see  again  the  little  Irish  churchyard 

Where  my  forefathers  sleep  in  silence  and  content: 
Ransboro   Chapel  too   .   .   .  my  thoughts   all  guard 

Each  spot  where  happiest  days  of  mine  were  spent! 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Newer  Ireland 

Out  of  chaos  into  cosmos, 

Out  of  suffering  and  throes  — 
Rejuvenant  and  joyful, 

The  Newer  Ireland  rose! 
The  Emerald  Isle  gave  up  its  wealth 

To  children  of  her  soil; 
And  industry  and  learning 

Gave  brain  and  brawn  their  toil! 

Her  harbors  long  a  barren  waste 

Were  ploughed  by  ships  galore; 
And  against  her  purple  heavens, 

Huge  saffron  wings  did  soar! 
The  exports  of  her  busy  sons 

Touched  earth's  forgotten  bounds; 
And  the  Celts  once  hunted  as  the  hare, 

Ran  with  the  foremost  hounds! 

Self-reliant,  self-determined  — 

No  more  a  beggar  went 
Beseeching  strangers'  benison; 

Her  heart  with  anguish  rent: 
The  Bog  of  Allen  flourished 

With    dear   homes   and   fields   all   sowed, 
And  the  rugged  Wicklow  mountains 

Gave  the  wealth  that  God  bestowed ! 

Where  once  the  olden  days  had  seen 

But  blackness  and  Death's  pall; 
Ten  million  Gaelic  children  dwelt 

[1] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

From  Cork  to  Donegal! 
Her  missionaries  preached  afar  — 

Her  scholars  filled  the  earth; 
And  seanachus  told  how  an   Easter  Week 

Had  wrought  New  Ireland's  birth! 

And  in  lecture  halls,  the  learning 

Of  Columba  thrived  once  more  — 
And  the  Isle  of  Saints  and  Scholars 

Glowed  with   Patrick's   faith   of   yore: 
Sure  the  heart  o'  me  was  joyful, 

For  beneath  her  newer  phase, 
'Twas  the  same  sweet  soul  of  Ireland, 

That  had  steeled  her  bitter  days! 


At  the  Dawning 

Verses  written  while  a  student  in  University 
CoUege  Dublin  (N.  U.  I.)  after  the  Rebellion  of 
Easter  1916. 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Patriot  Martyrs  of  1916! 

They  died  like  their  sires  before  them  — 

Gave  all  for  their  Dark  Rosaleen: 
Life,  talent  and  blood,  all  for  Erin, 

In  love  for  their  emerald  green: 
Glad  to  die  for  downtrodden  Ireland, 

Faced  the  guns  of  the  firing  squad 
In  the  yard  of  notorious  Kilmainham, 

Returned  their  pure  souls  to  their  God! 

They  saw  their  Republic  vanish, 

As  oft  Erin's  dream  hath  before  — 
Men  of  brains,  of  position  and  learning 

Paid  the  price  with  their  priceless  gore: 
When  earth  smiled  in  Maytime's  glory, 

And  bells  told  of  Paschal  tide, 
These  dashing  Republican   soldiers 

Went  to  meet  their  Crucified! 

Ah,  what  must  have  been  the  greeting 

Beyond  the  dim  mountains  of  Death, 
When  the  souls  of  those  patriot-martyrs 

Went  forth,  with  the  last  feeble  breath! 
Did  not  Erin's  illustrious  army, 

Way  up  in  the  City  of  Peace 
Welcome  their  latest   comrades 

Who  bled  for  dear  Erin's  release! 

Methinks  bold  Robert  Emmet, 

The  O'Donnell  of  yore  and  O'Neill ; 
With  Davis  and  Rossa  and  Wolfe  Tone; 

[5] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Allan,  Larkin,   O'Brien  —  all  leal  — 
Hailed  the  newest  heroes  of  Erin 

In  Columba's  and  Patrick's  home  — 
Afar  from  earth's  turmoil  and  trouble, 

In  the  blessed  ethereal  dome! 

Silent  now  are  their  trusty  muskets 

That  gallantly  scattered  the  foe; 
Their  green-white-and-orange  banner 

Floats  no  more  o'er  the  G.  P.  0. 
Yet  those  heroes  shall  live  undying 

Like  the  spirit  of  Granuale, 
And  their  deeds  shrined  in  song  and  story, 

Shall  summon  the  clans  of  the  Gael! 

Yes,  the  Fair  and  the  Loving  shall  mourn  them, 

And  pray  for  their  souls'  repose; 
But  the  brave  and  the  dauntless  shall  murmur 

For  vengeance  against  the  Rose! 
When  the  names  of  the  tyrants  that  slew  them 

Shall  have  turned  to  death  and  decay, 
The  names  of  the  '16  heroes 

Will  thrill  sober  hearts  and  gay! 

Future  days  shall  enkindle  that  spirit 

Of  the  Old  in  the  willing  New, 
And  make  their  grandest  visions  — 

Their  wildest  dreams  come  true! 
Hoary  sire  and  sober  matron 

Will  repeat  the  saga  once  more, 
And  whisper:    "0  Children  of  Erin, 

Remember  the  heroes  of  yore!" 

I  decipher  the  uncertain  shadows 

On  the  veil  of  the  Future  so  dark, 
And  list  how  proud  Erin  shall  utter 

[6] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

The  names  Pearse,  MacDonagh  and  Clarke: 
Shall  tell  with  real  glowing  ardor, 

How  courageous  and  well  they  died; 
Of  Heuston,  McDermott  and  Plunkett 

And  the  rest  with  brave  Major  McBride! 


7J 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


A  Lonely  Lamentation 

Wail  now,  0  Banshee  of  the  Irish  nation, 

Wail  for  the  bold  and  the  brave: 
Mourn  for  the  patriot  sons  of  poor  Erin, 

In  tears  their  fond  memories  lave: 
Where  are  the  fervent  Republican  heroes, 

That  lately  spake,  full  of  good  cheer? 
O   alas,  moan,  lament,   be  sorrowful, 

For  no  longer  they  linger  here! 

Raise  the  keen  in  the  gloomy  homesteads, 

Grieve  for  the  martyred  dead: 
Sit  in  sackcloth  and  lowly  ashes, 

For  those  souls  who  forever  are  fled. 
Let  the  Requiem  solemn  be  chanted; 

Toll  slowly  the  old  church  bell: 
Let  the  sad  notes  of  "Dies  Irae" 

Be  sung  for  the  Brave  who  fell! 


[8] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Message  of  the  Dead! 

Ho,  the  Irish  Brigade  has  come  to  life 

In   these  dismal  latter  years: 
Not  "on  far  foreign  fields"  do  they  enter  the  strife, 

Those  Irish  Volunteers! 
The  Wild  Geese  have  flown  to  their  native  shore, 

And  they  strike  with  stalwart  arm  — 
Mid  the  crack  of  rifle  in  the  capital, 

They  answer  the  sharp  alarm! 

No  more  'neath  King  Louis'  fleur-de-lis, 

Or  the  banner  of  Sunny  Spain: 
They  have  answered  Erin's  feeble  plea, 

Freely  and  not  in  vain. 
Black  '47  has  passed  and  gone, 

And  the  days  of  '98, 
But  the  spirit  of  Vinegar  Hill  lives  on 

And  the  Fenian  ambitions  great; 

With  the  rousing,  ringing  watchword 

That  a  sorrowful  past  recalls, 
With  the  treacherous,  lying,  Orange  horde 

Outside  old  Limerick's  walls, 
The  Irish  Republic's  soldiers 

Strike  a  blow  for  their  Innisfail, 
To  free  from  British  serfdom 

The  children  of  the  Gael! 

The  fiery  cross  a-blazing  fleets; 

The  tocsin  speaks  to  the  world; 
'Tis  Easter  Monday  in  Dublin's  streets  —  , 

[9] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

There  New  Ireland's  flag  is  unfurled! 
Though  only  a  fraction  of  Erin's  sons 

Followed  the  tri-color  then, 
Their  apparent  defeat  is  our  strengthening 

To  rouse  up  the  souls  of  men! 


In  the  blushing  modest  month  of  May, 

Fifteen  brave  hearts  were  stayed: 
Confessors  one  and  all  were  they 

For  that  creed  for  which  Lawrence  prayed: 
For  which  brave  Hugh  Roe  gave  up  his  life, 

For  which  Hugh  of  Dungannon  planned: 
Aye,  for  which  that  valiant  soldier  fought  — 

Owen  Roe,  'neath  O'Neill's  Red  Hand! 

And  in  later  times  for  which  Wolfe  Tone, 

Lord  Edward  and  Emmet  too 
Waged  all,  save  honor  bright  alone, 

When  stormy  tempests  blew: 
The  cause,  the  creed,  the  beau  ideal 

For   which   Grattan    pleaded   long, 
Of  which  Moore,  Davis,  Mangan,  sang, 

With  lyre  and  plaintive  song! 

Confessors  aye,  and  martyrs  stand 

For  the  cause  of  yesterday: 
That  Kickham,  Parnell,  Mitchell  and 

Smith-O'Brien  loved  alway! 
What  are  the  names,  0  willing  scribe, 

The  angel  will  record, 
That  Erin  might  the  strength  revive 

Of  Meagher  of  the  Sword! 

Yes,  write  them  reverently  too 

Upon  each  Irish  freeman's  heart  — 

[10] 


SONGS    OF    NEWER    IRELAND 

In  burning  letters  write  the  True 

Who  bravely  played  their  part. 
Write  Ceannt  and  Colbert,  John  McBride, 

Daly  and  Thomas  Clarke: 
The    dauntless   brothers   Pearse  —  they    gleam 

Like  beacons  in  the  dark! 

Write  on  and  let  the  whole  world  know 

Of  Plunkett's  deeds  of  fame; 
How  Heuston  faced  and  beat  the  foe; 

James  Connolly  the  same! 
The  O'Rahilly,  Gael  of  the  Gaelic  soul, 

MacDonagh  the  Muses'  friend: 
McDermott,  the  brothers  O'Hanrahan; 

For  all  let  our  praise  ascend! 

0  God  of  our  Fathers,  not  in  vain  have  they  died, 

They  watch  from  their  felon's  graves : 
Their  spirits  within  us  shall  ever  abide, 

Bringing  hope  to  those  reckoned  as  slaves : 
"Idealists  all"  will  the  critic  sneer; 

But  they  who  love  Erin's  lore 
Will   breathe   a   fond   prayer   for   her   soldier   sons 

Who  revived  the  true  spirit  of  yore! 

0  God  of  our  Fathers,  in  peace  may  they  rest, 

Who  died  that  Erin  might  live : 
If  aught  was  against  thy  Christ's  behest 

0  God  of  our  Fathers,  forgive! 
Bequiescat:   In  some  grim  prison  ground, 

Those  Celtic  of  the  Celts  now  sleep; 
Mingling  with  their  beloved  soil, 

While  we  stay  behind  and  weep! 

Awaiting  the  Last  Loud  Trumpet's  call 

They  slumber  .    .    .   their  life's  work  o'er: 

[11] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Freely  they  gave  up  life  and  all 

To  revive  the  spirit  of  yore. 
For  helping  hands  and  loyal  hearts 

The  mighty  dead  call  on  the  Gael, 
"Arise  and  finish  out  our  work, 

For  God  and  Innisfail!" 


[12] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER    IRELAND 


The  Muse  of  Mars 

(To  the  memory  of  Thomas  MacDonagh,  Assistant 
Professor  of  English  Literature  in  University  College, 
Dublin,  by  one  of  his  students  there). 

I  used  to  hear  your  lectures  in  the  University, 
Where  lions  guarding,  look  out  upon  Saint  Steph 
en's  Green: 
You  were  fair   Wisdom's   priest   in   that   beloved 

scene, 

And  we  were  students  seeking  for  an  Arts'  degree : 
All  through  the  dying  Autumn  days  of  dull  '15 
To  Christmas  white,  your  daily  task  (and  ours)  went 
pleasantly ! 

Then  came  the  tedious  term  after  the  Yule: 

The  welcome  holidays  appeared  and  went  at  Easter 
tide; 
And  you,  alas,  went  with  them,  for  you  on  earth 

had  died  — 

Now  gone  to  be  a  truer  teacher  in  a  newer  school  — 
To  preach  the  fiery  gospel  of  a  Nation  sorely  tried 
Unto  a  world  where  only  spirits  rule! 

Beloved  Professor!    In  my  foolish  heart  methinks  I 

know 
Your  spirit  often  haunts  the  school  great  Newman 

led: 
Like  some  brave  Hamlet,  carried  off  while  precious 

youth  was  red  — 

Airing  thy  grievances  and  Erin's  to  July  suns  and 
Winter's  Snow: 

[13] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Mingling  with  the  students  when  'tis  noonday  over 
head, 

And   walking   pensively   alone,   beneath   the   moon's 
fair  glow! 

Thine   was   the   scholar's   soul,   the   Poet's    and   the 

Seer's : 

Thine  was  the  vision  of  the  sheeted  dead  and  gibber 
ing  ghosts  — 

The  battles  in  the  clouds  among  the  armed  hosts 
Above  the  City  of  Dublin.     With  the  fulness  of  the 

years, 
Forsake   the  doom   and   darkness  over  which   the 

tyrant  boasts  — 

Come,  strengthen  willing  arms  and  dry  the  widow's 
tears! 


[14] 


SONGS    OF    NEWER    IRELAND 


Erin  Free  —  Erin  Glorified 

Hark    Erin!     Raise    aloft   thy   tear-stained    eyelids; 

Arise  from  thy  ebonite  bed: 
Behold  in  the  household  of  Heaven, 

The  forms  of  thy  Immortal  Dead: 
There  see  the  sons  of  Saint  Patrick 

In  serried  ranks  appear, 
As  Princes  in  God's  own  Kingdom  — 

They,  deemed  but  plebians  here! 

Thou  who  hast  clung  in  dark  desolation 

To  the  sad  yet  comforting  Tree; 
Will  yet  ascend  from  Mount  Olivet, 

After  death  on  thy  Calvary! 
Aye,  will  mount  the  stairs  of  Heaven 

When  Christ  ascends  once  more, 
After  Jehosaphat's  judgment  • — 

Thy  pain  and  mourning  o'er! 

In  the  New  Solyma  of  glory  — 

Citizens  leal  to  their  King, 
The  Children  of  Lir  and  their  mother 

Shall  reign  free  from  sorrowing! 
Then  truly  the  Erin  that  suffered 

When  others  were  rich  and  free, 
Will  gain  from  the  Sun  of  Justice, 

Her  fulness  of  Liberty! 


[15] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


To  a  Rebel  Patriot  Leader! 

(Lines  written  in  memory  of  Patrick  H.  Pearse, 
Commandant-General  of  the  Irish  Republican  Army 
during  the  stirring  days  of  Easter  Week,  1916.) 

O  Eminent  Patriot,  Poet  and  Scholar, 

Sadly  have  I  read  thy  last  adieu 
Written  to  thy  cherished  mother  — 

And  the  little  poem  penned  by  you: 
How  could  mortal  read  that  letter 

Of  a  brave  intrepid  Gael, 
And  not  feel  a  throb  of  anguish 

For  the  dead  in  Kilmainham  Jail! 

A  holocaust  dear  to  the  hearts  of  all  Freemen, 

Thou  and  thy  bold  companions  wert; 
A  sacrifice  rare,  that  the  Spirit  of  Erin 

Might  awaken  and  watch  alert; 
Oil  for  the  lamp  of  Kathleen  Ni-Houlihan, 

To   guide   her   through   the   gathering   gloom  — 
You   Patrick   Pearse,    and   your   trusty   fellows, 

Chose  gladly  a  prison  tomb ! 

"This   is   the   death  I   should   have  asked   for"- 

Well  did  your  wish  come  true! 
"A  soldier's  death  for  Erin  and  freedom" 

Was  yours,  with  your  dauntless  Few ! 
But  now  thou  art  gone,  Brave  Hero : 

Orator,  bold  pamphleteer' — 
Head-master  in  far-famed   Saint  Enda's: 

We  breath  a  true  prayer  o'er  your  bier! 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Twine  then  a  garland  of  prayers  for  the  Valiant, 

Who  martialled  the  Volunteers: 
Let  their  names  writ  in  blood,  shine  in  glory  — 

Wax  bright  with  the  coming  years. 
May  their  spirit  live  within  us  — 

Undying,  true  and  fierce: 
And  remember  the  noblest  and  purest  — 

The  illustrious  Patrick  Pearse! 


[17] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


June  —  the  Artist  at  Eventide 

A  rich  golden  belt  clasps  the  Western  sky, 

On  this  eventide  in  June: 

Cloudlets  of  violet  and  pinkish  hue 

Float  'twixt  the  sky-line  and  Heaven's  blue; 

Over  a  halo  of  tea-rose  tint: 

The  swaying  elm  trees,  half  green,  half  black, 

Keep  time  as  the  breezes  sigh: 

One  bashful  star  'gins  in  gold  to  glint, 

Into  sight  like  the  mother-moon, 

For  the  lordly  sun  has  gone  to  rest : 

Then  a  shy  little  star,  the  boldest  and  best 

Calls  to  brothers  and  sisters  too, 

"Come  out,  for  the  sun's  not  in  sight" — 

And  e'en  now  his  banners  bright  fade  in  his  track, 
Into  the  purple  of  night! 


[18] 


Echoes  of  Erin 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Awakening 

Did  they  think  that  the  soul  of  my  Erin  was  dead  — 

That  Saxon  wiles  had  wooed  her? 
Did  they  think  that  heart  the  years  had  bled 

Now  had  turned  to  her  vain  intruder? 
Did  they  think  that  the  wounds  that  yet  were  red, 

Could  be  healed  by  the  kiss  of  a  Tudor? 

Vain  thoughts  for  the  grasping  Saxon  band, 

For  the  soul  of  my  Erin  so  meek, 
Awoke,  o'er  the  drugged  and  drowsy  land 

In  her  sons  of  that  brave  Easter  Week! 
For  aye  be  it  thus,  when  true  men  shall  stand, 

For  God  and  Erin  to  speak! 


[21] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Return  of  the  Celts. 

The  Celts  are  going,  the  Saxons  sang 
O'er  a  proud  race,  famished  by  hunger's  pang: 
They  chuckled  in  their  fiendish  glee, 
They  sail  in  their  coffin-ships  over  the  sea 
Away  to  Southern  and  Western  climes : 
They  boasted  through  the  London  Times, 
In  jeering  tones,  in  accents  glowing, 
"The  Celts  are  going,  the  Celts  are  going!" 

The  Celts  are  going  .    .    .  but  not  yet  gone: 
Thank  God,  their  children  still  live  on 

In  the  Land  of  Patrick  and  Columbkille, 

In  the  fertile  vale,  on  the  rugged  hill: 
But  the  Bad  Times  and  the  crowbar  brigades 
Have   filled   many   a   hearthstone   with   green   grass 
blades : 

Within  many  a  quiet  churchyard  gate, 

They  sleep,  who  perished  in  '48 ! 

The  Celts  are  going  .   .   .  but  hark  on  the  gale 
That  sweeps  the  four  corners  of  Granuale, 
The  sound  of  a  rifle  in  Dublin's  fair  Town : 
Why  it  tilts  the  King  of  England's  crown, 
And  the  bullets  of  the  Volunteers 
Are  singing  the  watchword  of  the  years  — 
The  Wild  Geese  return  from  a  foreign  vale  — 
What  Ho !   The  Celts  are  coming  back  to  Innisf ail ! 

The  Celts  are  coming  back  again  — 
'Cross  purple  hill  and  mossy  glen: 

[22] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Not  with  furtive  step,  but  with  tread  of  men, 
The  Spirit  of  Erin,  o'er  hill  and  fen 
Sweeps  with  the  stride  of  Owen  Roe  — 
Though  footsteps  of  blood  dot  the  virgin  snow 
The  Spirit  of  Erin  is  marching  on 
With  men  of  brain  and  men  of  brawn! 

The  Celts  are  coming  back  to  stay  — 
To  inherit  the  land  of  their  sires'  clay: 

The  West's  awake  from  Shannon  to  sea, 

She  has  answered  the  call  of  Liberty! 
Ye  Sons  of  Banba,  arise  in  your  might  — 
De  Valera  leads  for  Erin  and  Right: 

Thank  God,  the  Celts  are  coming  back 

Into  their  own,  again! 


[23] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Mankind's  University 

The  Cross  of  Christ  rears  up  its  head  — 
The  light  of  Knowledge  full  is  shed 
Upon  each  kindly  hill  and  vale: 
Sweet  Peace,  her  benison  bestows 
And  Piety  now  thrives  and  grows 
With  Learning,  in   dear  Innisfail! 

From  Burgundy  the  scholars  come, 
From  utmost  parts  of  Christiandom : 
From  far  Italian  frontiers, 

To  Armagh,  Derry  and  Clonard, 

To  go  forth  doctor,  teacher,  bard, 

From  the  Isle  of  Saints  and  Seers! 

Wherever  Christ's  blessed  creed  is  taught, 
The  sons  of  Holy  Erin  sought 
The  pagans  far  across  the  sea: 

From   Derry,   Clonfert  and  Lismore 
The  sainted  scholars  homeward  pour 
From  mankind's  university! 

Alas,  the  mad  barbaric  hordes, 

The  Norsemen  from  their  native  fjords 

Swept  down  where  piety  and  learning  grew; 
And  tried  to  tarnish  her  fair  name 
Until  the  day  of  reckoning  came 
With  Clontarf  and  Brian  Boru! 

[24] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Misfortune  followed  from  the  Danes  — 
A  ruthless  foe  swept  o'er  her  plains; 
The  schools  —  the  pride  of  Long  Ago, 
Were  ruined  by  a  stranger's  hand; 
The  monasteries  of  the  land 
Fell,  as  the  walls  of  Jericho! 

The  dead  alone  can  fitly  tell 

Of  ruined  altar  and  silent  bell  — 

Of  abbeys   and  schools   where  the  mosses   grow: 
Well  may  their  children  long  bewail 
The  fall  of  the  learning  of  Innisfail  — 
Famed  Banger's  ruin,  and  Armagh's  woe! 

0  Learning  that  once  was  Erin's  pride, 

When  the  pagan  ruled  half  a  world  beside  — 

Come,  as  the  foreign  scholars  do, 

From   India's    and   America's   pale, 
To  study  with  the  sons  of  Gael  — 

0  let  great  Newman's  dream  come  true! 


[25] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Saint  Patrick's  Day  at  Sea 

Saint  Patrick's  Day  upon  the  ocean  wide; 

Far,  far  away  from  Erin  and  the  shamrocks  green ; 

Apart  from  friends,  and  one  fair  sweet  colleen 
Exiled  from  me,  her  lover,  and  her  home  by  Shan 
non's  side! 

Saint  Patrick's  Day  "Somewhere  upon  the  Atlantic 

waves" — 

0  God  be  with  the  good  old  days  of  yore 
When  far  away  in  Erin,  fun  and  mirth  galore 

Ran  riot  in  the  land  for  which  my  fond  heart  craves! 

Sometimes  through  the  sea,  I  think  I  hear  the  wail 
Of  plaintive  bagpipes  down  the  lonely  years, 
And  then  to  "God  save  Ireland"  march  the  Volun 
teers, 

And  my  heart  goes  trooping  onward  with  the  children 
of  the  Gael ! 

Down  whitewashed  village  streets  this  holy  day, 
Fresh   plucked   shamrocks   on   each   proud   breast 

airily  — 
The  fifes  and  drums  are  playing  merrily 

The  "Wearin'  of  the  Green"  to  me,  from  far  away! 


[26] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Protean  Land. 

I  saw  once  a  land  where  the  grasses  grew 

Greener  and  yet  more  green; 
And  the  moonbeams  peeped  on  the  rich   cornfields 

That  shone  in  a  silvery  sheen : 
I  saw  the  fish  in  her  rivers  leap, 

And  the  stags  on  her  proud  hills  roam: 
I  sighed  and  longed  for  that  lovely  land  — 

A  fairyland,  and  a  home! 

But  I  looked  again  when  the  sun  was  high, 

And  the  sky  hung  in  blue-gold  veils; 
And  I  saw  her  people  —  a  wretched  lot, 

Living  in  cabins  and  jails : 
But  most  of  her  children  were  scattered  far 

To  the  East  and  the  distant  West : 
Ah,  there  seemed  no  hope,  for  the  foreign  yoke 

Bore  down  on  that  race  oppressed! 

And  I  saw  the  ruins  that  marked  the  march 

Of  this  race  across  centuries: 
Cromlech,  round-tower  and  abbey 

Arched  by  the  eternal  trees! 
Alas  that  the  canker-worm  of  hate 

Had  set  its  mark  everywhere: 
Famine  and  exile  had  stifled  her  all, 

And  I  prayed,  "GOD  COMFORT  HER!" 

The  legions  of  Hell  were  gathered  there 
To  harass  each  step  and  path : 

[27] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

The  angels  came  when  the  darkness  fell, 

To  pour  out  the  vials  of  wrath: 
But  I  saw  a  light  in  Cimmerian  gloom, 

And  it  grew  till  it  reached  the  sky  — 
And  the  voice  of  the  dead  through  the  living  spoke, 

"Our  land  shall  never  die!" 


[28] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


A  Celtic  Christmas 

The  Twenty-fourth  was  all  so  quiet  and  still, 

Save  when  some  homeward  cart  with  Christmas  fare 
Rattled  along  as  horses  climbed  the  hill  — 

Yet  there  was  frost  and  silence  in  the  air! 
And  just  a  blotch  of  palest  rose, 

Smeared  across  the  West  in  timid  flight 
Was  all  the  meek  day  said  .    .    .   and  now  he  goes, 

And  there  is  silence  grey,  and  night! 

The  gleam  of  stars  that  tremble  in  the  frost 

Is    leading    me    to    Bethlehem,    like    hearthstone's 

ember 
Leads  back  the  lone  one  and  the  lost, 

But  now  the  dark  and  cold  that  is  December 
Is  cheered  and  lighted  up  —  in  farmhouse  windows 

The    Christ-Child    candles    glimmer    through    each 

curtained  pane; 
Fainter  as  night  advances,  each  love-lit  candle  glows, 

Till  in  the  dark,  they  vanish,  one  by  one  again! 

MIDNIGHT !  The  blessed  hour  of  the  Saviour's  birth, 

Then  clearly  through  the  icy  air  there  swells 
Twelve  slow  and  solemn  strokes  to  all  the  earth, 

As  Christmas  Day  is  ushered  in  by  chapel  bells: 
From  midnight  Mass  to  Mass  at  midday  hour, 

The  children  for  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem  will  come, 
And  through  the  grey  gloom,  God's  eternal  power 

Is  leading  them  out,  the  blind,  the  lame,  the  dumb ! 

[29] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

The  student  is  back  from  his  college  now, 

Sons  and  daughters  have  come  to  their  home  again, 
And  rejoice  beneath  the  berried  holly  bough, 

Twined  with  ivy  and  fern,  plucked  in  some  sheltered 

glen! 
For  the  absent  and  dead,  a  prayer  to  the  Lord 

Then   the  Mother   uncovers   the   warm    Christmas 

treat  — 
The  best  that  purse  and  skill  can  afford, 

On  the  snow-white  tables,  tasty  and  neat! 

Thus  passes  the  Cherished  Christmas  Day  — 
A  feast  for  the  body  and  soul  outpoured; 
E'en  the  robin  will  twitter  a  merrier  lay 

For  the  tit-bits  and  crumbs  from  the  festive  board ! 
The  starlit  dusk  of  Christmas  fades  and  faints 

Into  Saint  Stephen's  dawn  —  the  feast  of  him 
The  first  true  witness  in  life's  blood  —  the  van  of 

saints  — 
The  nearest  to  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem! 

And  now  like  perfume  from  some  fragrant  flower, 
Saint   Stephen's   Day   brings   back  the   charm   of 

Christmas  morn  — 
Many  an  Irish  soul  at  mealtime  hour 

Abstains  from  meat,  that  he  who  bore  first  scoff 

and  scorn 
Will  ward  off  fevers  and  diseases  of  the  flesh: 

Today  we  go  a-hunting  for  the  wren, 
And  some  will  chase  the  hares  with  hounds  so  sleek 

and  fresh, 
Panting  clouds  of  breath  o'er  hill  and  frozen  fen! 

With  masks  and  costumes  queer,  down  many  a  quiet 

lane, 
The  wren-boys  come  to  farmhouse  doors  and  sing 

[30] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

A  Christmas  carol  —  then  an  old  melodion's  strain 
Pipes  out  a  melody  to  earth's  new  Infant  King! 

Perhaps  a  good  old-fashioned  dance  tonight 

Will  gather  lads  and  lassies  to  the  nearby  school; 

Perhaps  a  play  will  make  the  evening  bright, 
And  social  cheer  will  crown  a  gladsome  Yule! 

The  Christmas  Tide  in  Erin  is  the  best 

That  earth  can  offer:    mine  the  heart  that  knows 
For  I  have  spent  them  all  in  East  or  West  — 

Wherever  on  this  earth,  my  wind's  will  blows: 
And  when  my  Sligo  hills  are  wreathed  in  snow-drifts 
wild, 

My  thoughts  fly  back  there  o'er  a  foreign  sea  — 
Down  in  my  heart  I  thank  the  Infant  Child 

And  His  sweet  Mother,  for  their  gifts  of  memory! 


[31] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


A  Keen  for  the  Castle  of  Breffny 

Ah,  here  O'Rourkes  of  Breffny  lived  and  died, 

Where  stand  these  chill  and  cold  grey  walls: 
What  change  from  days  of  pomp  and  pride, 

When  festive  laughter  echoed  through  these  halls! 
Hearts  that  were  bold  and  minds  of  noble  power, 

Forms  that  were  fair  and  pure  as  eyes  could  see; 
All  sleep   .    .    .  some  in  the  shade  of  Sligo  Abbey's 
tower, 

And  some  are  slumbering  in  Creevalea ! 

The  ashes  are  long  since  dead  on  the  hearth, 

The  rains  of  centuries  have  dashed  in  might 
Where  oft  was  sung  the  song  of  mirth, 

And  seanachus  made  short  the  Winter's  night. 
Only  the  cawing  of  the  busy  rooks  is  heard 

Where  o'er  the  waters  rang  the  harp  of  Breffny's 

proud  bard: 
The  chattering  of  some  small  saucy  bird 

Replaces  now  the  tread  of  many  a  trusty  guard! 

Here  where  in  glory  hung  the  foeman's  blade, 

His  cherished  banners  and  his  tunic  too : 
Stand  bleak  walls  by  the  dint  of  Time  decayed, 

And  ivy  hangs  a-dripping  with  the  rain  and  dew, 
Like  some  sad  wreath  o'er  Erin's  house  of  woe  — 

A  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  brave  and  dead, 
Who,  actors  in  the  first  scene  of  that  tragic  show, 

Gladly  for  Breffny  and  their  Erin,  fought  and  bled ! 

[32] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Here  within  the  crackle  of  the  stout  oak  logs, 
Where  crouched  the  wolf-hounds,  panting  from  the 

chase; 
Young  Prince  O'Rourke,  fresh  from  the  hills   and 

bogs, 
Gave  to  the  weary  stranger,  once  thrice-welcome 

place ! 
The   Castle   of   Breffny,   whose   wide   portals   wider 

thrown 

To  those  poor  pilgrims  in  0' Sullivan  Beare's  re 
treat, 
With  the  grasses  of  three  hundred  years  is  now  o'er- 

grown : 

Many  the  souls  that  tarry  there,  though  few  the 
feet! 

Methinks  a  brighter  light  ere  long  will  glow, 

In  place  of  one  that  pilgrim  eyes  had  sought, 
And  yet  round  Dromahaire,  chill  winds  may  blow  — 
Unquenched  will  be  the  torch  of  Freedom  lately 

caught 
From  flames  awakened  in  the  Stygian  gloom: 

And  Breffny,  the  first  sad  page  in  Erin's  sorrowful 

tale, 
Long  thought  to  be  the  epitaph  on  Nationhood's  fair 

tomb 
Will  be  a  sweet  rainbow  of  promise  to  the  Gael! 


[33] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Spark 

The  night  was  dark  —  a  tiny  spark 

Glowed  in  the  ashes  gray: 
Though  the  wild  wind  howled, 
And  the  black  sky  scowled, 

Erin  knelt  there  to  pray  — 
And  she  sat  near  the  hearthstone  anxiously, 

Waiting  for  someone,  and  Day! 

She  nursed  the  spark,  while  she  heard  the  bark 

Of  distant  dogs  and  curs: 
For  her  own  out  there, 
She  made  a  prayer, 

In  that  desolate  house  of  hers; 
And  she  stirred  the  embers  fitfully  — 

The  embers  of  turf  and  furze! 

The  lightning  flashed   and   the   thunder  crashed 

Around  her  comfortless  cell: 
Some  grim  funeral  pyre, 
She  nursed  her  fire  — 

Though  she  suffered  the  torments  of  Hell: 
And  even  her  children  would  not  have  known 

This  Shan  Van  Vocht,  their  mother's  shell! 

Though  the  storms  did  brew  and  the  fires  grew 

A  dot  in  the  night's  black  bowl; 
The  tempters  came 
With  their  hearts  of  shame 

And  offered  her  dole  on  dole  — 
But  through  all  that  weary  night  of  want  — 

She  would  not  sell  her  soul! 

[34] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Somewhere  in  the  world,  a  flag  is  unfurled, 

Of  orange  and  white  and  green: 
And  the  dawning  streaks 
O'er  the  Eastern  peaks 

Tell  of  a  vision  seen  — 
For  her   children   have  kindled  that   dying   blaze 

On  the  hearth  of  my  Dark  Rosaleen! 


[35] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Sacrifice! 

"Erin  must  die"  the  tyrant  decreed, 

Though  the   tyrant   had   glutted   his   devilish   greed 

On  her  life-blood  and  wealth, 

With  a  vampire's  stealth: 
And  poor  Erin  toiled  on  up  Calvary's  slope  — 
To  the  place  of  skulls  and  of  lesser  hope! 

Her  nobler  children  saw  her  distress ; 

The  Crown  of  Thorns  they  take  and  caress: 

The  stronger  and  bolder 

Snatch  the  Cross  from  her  shoulder  — 
The  latest  farthing  of  devotion  they  pay  — 
In  the  winepress  of  wrath,  her  pain  allay! 

O  noble  children  from  noble  womb, 

Who  cheerfully  chose  the  darkening  tomb, 

And  heartsblood  gladly  gave, 

That  generations  no  longer  slave 
Beneath  the  tyrant's  hated  yoke  .   .    . 
Sacred  the  very  sacrificial  smoke! 

O  priests  of  the  newer  dispensation, 
Who  live  in  the  hearts  of  the  Irish  nation  — 
Your  blood  has  more  than  sanctified 
The  colors  and  creed  for  which  you  died  — 
Let  all  men  know  your  freeborn  sacrifice, 
And  knowing,  shall  appreciate  the  price! 


[36] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Eve  of  All  Hallows  in  Erin 

Mellow  October  is  waning  fast; 

'Twill   die  at  the  stroke  of  midnight  bells 
That   peal   through  the   silence   and   dead   of   night 
From  the  big  Cathedral  in  Sligo  Town, 

Built  on  the  beautiful  River  of  Shells! 

Tomorrow  will  be  the  Feast  of  All  Saints  — 

The   Militant    Church   will    celebrate 
The  glory  of  King  and  Queen  made  poor  — 
The  humble  exalted  —  for  Jesus'  sake  — 

In  the  Church  of  Mary  Immaculate! 

But  that  for  the  morrow  —  this  haunted  night, 

Joy  for  the  Harvest  haggarded  now; 
And  fun  ere  the  gloom  of  Winter, 
Will  keep  Summer's  smile  within  our  hearts, 
Till  Spring  returns  with  swallow  and  plough! 

The  sun  that  was  sickly  and  yellow  today 

Set  behind  the  cairn  of  Knocknarea: 

A  rosy,  robust  chap,  and  now  the  lanes 

And  shucks  around  the  fields  are  hidden 

By  a  mist  that  is  ghostly  and  grey! 

The  straggling  carts  rattle  homewards, 
And  the  howling  of  some  distant  dog 
Lends  a  sense  of  weirdness  to  the  scene: 
Whiter  than  snow  are  the  fields  neath  the  moon 
That  gleams  alike  on  hill  and  bog! 

[37] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

The  flicker  of  the  open  firelight  plays 

On  the  curtains  and  yellow  blinds 
Of  many  a  happy  home  tonight, 
The  Gael  their  ancient  Sawan  hold  once  more 

With  gleeful  hearts  and  cheerful  minds! 

Loughey  boys  shall  have  their  night  this  Halloweve: 

A  riot  of  home-made  fun  and  revelry: 
Gates  shall  be  missing  the  dawn  of  All  Saints: 
And  cabbage  stumps  will  rattle  on  many  a  cottage 

door, 
Just  for  a  bit  of  pure  deviltry 

Happy  the  unwedded  maid  who  finds 

The  ring  in  her  piece  of  home-made  cake: 
A  bride  before  twelvemonths  she'll  be: 
And  the  bouchaill  will  read  the  Fate's  decree, 
For  his  future  colleen's  sake! 

In  the  depths  of  many  a  lonely  kiln, 

Unwinding  a  ball  of  yarn: 
The  lover  will  see  life's  future  mate: 
The  mirror  reflects  my  love  this  night, 

As  I  eat  an  apple  by  candlelight  in  the  barn. 

Nora  will  know  which  one  of  her  boys 

Will  be  true,  by  the  chestnuts  that  jump  on  the 

grate: 

Rosy  apples  and  cakes  and  nuts  galore 
Will  load  the  tables,  this  set  night  — 

Anon  the  mystic  rites  we'll  celebrate! 

The  ritual  of  Halloweve  demands 

The  unwed,  uncertain  lover  to  fare 
For  one  thirsty  night  on  a  salty  herring  — 

[38] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Oh,  the  tricks  that  are  played  with  the  Sphinx  of 

Fate  — 
In  my  homeland,  from  Grange  to  Ballysodare! 

While  far  away  in  my  Erin  they  play 

Their  jokes  this  Thirty-first,  mid  moans  and  grins 
My  cup  of  sadness  is  turned  to  wine  of  joy, 
Because  I  know  a  prayer  for  me,  their  roving  boy, 

Is  offered  up,  before  the  evening  meal  begins! 

While  in  verses  rude  I  write  the  story  of  this  night, 

As  'tis  in  my  own  place  'round  Sligo: 
And  live  in  spirit  as  once  I  lived  in  flesh  — 
I  know  that  I   am  leagues  away  from   those  dear 

scenes  — 
A  rover  on  the  restless  Gulf  of  Mexico ! 


[39] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Caed  Mile  Failte 

To  sea-bound  battlements  I  came, 

In  a  land  that  once  held  a  fair  proud  name 

In  the  Western  sea; 
And  guarding  the  glory  of  bygone  days, 
I  heard  that  password,  that  Heavenly  phrase 

Caed  Mile  Failte! 

What  wealth  of  earnest,  goodly  cheer 
From  smiling  Irish  lips  to  hear 

Caed  Mile  Failte! 
The  kindly  Celt's  forget-me-not; 
Ah,  sweeter  words  were  never  thought  — 

Caed  Mile  Failte! 

They  mean,  "We  open  up  our  land, 

Our  homes,  our  hearts  and  give  our  hand 

To  you,  our  friend: 
Rejoice  and  enter  Erin's  gates, 
W.here  kindest,  heartiest  greeting  waits  — 

Caed  Mile  Failte! 

Poor  outcast,  yet  of  golden  parts, 
We  gather  you  unto  our  hearts, 

Caed  Mile  Failte! 

Our  land  is  poor,  but  yet  our  best 
Is  all  for  you,  our  welcome  guest  — 
Caed  Mile  Failte! 

Our  treasure-house  is  opened  up, 
Come,  drink  a  brimming  measure  cup  — 
Caed  Mile  Failte! 

[40] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Drink  in  the  legends  and  the  lore, 
Our  music,  history  —  and  more, 

Our  literature  and  ways! 


Some  friends  will  wish  your  future  well, 
And  health  and  happiness  foretell  • — 

Vain,  idle  hopes : 

But  the  Celtic  saying  welcomes  you 
In  robes  that  other  folks  would  rue  — • 

Caed  Mile  Failte! 

Ah,  in  my  wanderings  I  have  heard 
The  kindly,  genial  greeting  word 

Of  many  climes : 
The  "Viva"  of  the  Portuguese, 
But  one  is  sweeter  far  than  these  • — 

Caed  Mile  Failte! 


[41] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Vision  of  Granuale! 

I  have  caught  the  Irish  spirit 

From  the  legends  and  the  lore; 
And  learned  to  love  my  sires'  land 

From  shore  to  rocky  shore 
I  have  seen  the  peace  of  Tir-n-an-ogue 

In  gentle  country  lanes: 
And  the  martial  fire  of  Owen  Roe 

Flashed  in  thunder  and  the  rains: 
I've  seen  scattered  shrines   of   Druid 

In  groups  of  sturdy  oak: 
I  have  knelt  at  moss-grown  altars, 

Loved  by  genial  country-folk: 
The  sorrowed  tale  of  suffering 

Is  writ  in  Breffney's  halls, 
But  the  hymn  of  hope  and  freedom 

Rings  through  glens  from  waterfalls: 
The  ancient  glory  of  Erin, 

Stands  inscribed  in  Clonmacnoise; 
In  the  fields  and  heath-clad  mountains 

I  have  listened  to  her  voice: 
Her  spirit  falls  upon  me 

As  I  read  her  martyr's  prose, 
And  glean  history  from  the  ballads 

Of  her  glory  and  her  woes! 
Her  retinue  of  fairies 

From  the  cromlechs  and  the  raths, 
And  the  leprechauns  and  banshees 

That  haunt  the  lonesome  paths  — 
All  these  passed  before  my  vision 

In  one  glorious  review  — 

[42] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

As  I  dreampt  of  holy  Ireland, 

Beneath  skies  of  Southern  blue: 
And  I've  seen  the  Shan  Van  Vocht  in  her 

When  bogs  were  grey  with  cloud: 
Sweet  Kathleen  Ni  Houlihan 

Came  with  the  Maytime  proud: 
Sure  I'm  thinking  of  the  heathered  hills, 

And  fields  all  fringed  with  furze 
And  I'm  praying  that  'twill  come  again  — 

The  glory  that  was  hers! 


[43] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Stranger's  Castle 

In  the  gentle  peace  of  an  Irish  vale 
A  stranger  full  armed  in  a  coat  of  mail 
Rode  into  the  dell 
Where  Peace  did  dwell, 
And  built  a  stronghold  in  that  paradise  — 
A  stain  beneath  the  genial  Irish  skies 
That  ever  meditate  upon  the  sons  of  Gael! 

And  they  who  dwelt  in  that  valley  fair 
Oft  wondered  what  the  stranger  knight  kept  there; 
And  rumors  ran 
That  the  fairy  clan 

Kept  holiday  in  its  walls  of  mystery  — 
For  the  stranger  kept  under  lock  and  key 
This  castle  haunted  as  a  banshee's  lair! 

The  Stranger  came  both  early  and  late 
To  lead  some  Croppies  to  the  castle  gate: 
Whispering,  pale 
He  told  the  tale 

Of  Protestant  tyrants  that  had  tracked  their  sires 
To  Death,  with  famine,  sword  and  fires  — 
Craftily  the  Stranger  sowed  the  seeds  of  hate! 

This  same  Stranger  took  some  Irish  Protestants  aside, 
And  to  their  ears  a  secret  he'd  confide: 
A  hideous  plot 
Was  being  wrought 

By  Croppies  to  disrupt  the  Island  Home, 
And  set  a  tyrant  Pope  of  Rome 
Upon  the  soil  for  which  their  sires  died! 

[44] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

The  years  are  not  long   (nor  the  memory  spent) 
Since  the  Stranger  went  forth  on  his  errand  bent: 
And  kept  apart 
The  Irish  heart- — 

For  Croppy  and  Orange  madly  vied 
To  win  the  day  for  their  own  dear  side, 
While  the  stranger  laughed  to  his  heart's  content! 

But  there  came  a  day  in  Erin  of  ours, 
When  the  Stranger  left  his  castle's  towers: 
A  messenger  white 
At  dead  of  night 

Came  riding  hotfoot  from  the  Stranger's  shore 
With  the  startling,  terrible  news  of  war  — 
"Come  quick,  and  gather  all  your  powers!" 

While  the  Stranger  was  fighting  his  foemen  bold, 
Some  were  seen  to  enter  the  castle's  fold: 
For  Orange  and  Green 
Went  there  to  glean 
The  secret  that  held  them  both  in  awe, 
And  made  them  enemies  within  the  law  — 
So  together  they  entered  the  Stranger's  stronghold! 

They  searched  cranny  and  nook  and  every  place; 
And  they  swore  an  oath  in  the  Stranger's  face, 
Did  Orange  and  Green: 
And  that  gentle  scene 

Became  no  more  a  bugbear  for  them  both: 
In  its  halls  they  joined  a  solemn  oath  • — 
United  we  stand  for  the  Irish  race! 


[45] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  New  Irish  Brigade 

No  Irish  seas  sing  requiem, 
Nor  Irish  winds  shall  moan  o'er  them  — 
Whose  bones  and  ashes  scattered  wide 
Throughout  the  known  world  today  — 
As  soldiers,  saints  and  scholars,  they 
Toiled  far  from  Shannon's  side! 

Some  as  brave  warriors  undismayed, 
And  some  in   a  gentle  cloister's  shade; 
And  some  as  builders  of  states  were  seen; 
And  more  in  Learning's  lecture  hall   .    . 
But  the  sorrow  of  Erin  smote  them  all  — 
The  love  of  their  Dark  Rosaleen ! 

Brave  exiles  from  their  native  shore, 
Gladly  and  willingly  they  swore 
To  work  and  fight  and  die  at  last 
For  the  land  wherein  they  settled  down: 
In  quiet  field  and  noisy  town  — 
'Neath  many  flags  their  lives  were  passed! 

Down  through  the  bitter  centuries 
A  flag  that  fluttered  in  the  breeze 

Was  carried  through  war's  blood  and  fire: 
An  emblem  of  their  creed  unfurled: 
Confession  unto  all  the  world: 
On  battlefield:  in  lonely  choir! 

A  legend  writ  in  blood  and  love 
On  foreign  fields  did  float  above 

[46] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

That  dauntless  band  where'er  they  strayed: 
From  Ramillies  to  Landen's  plain : 
From  Ypres  down  to  sunny  Spain  — 

The  conquering  Irish  Brigade. 

The  passing  of  olden  scepter  and  crown 
Dimmed  not  the  Irish  Brigade's  renown : 
Through  the  turmoil  of  a  Civil  War, 

Meagher's  famed  Brigade  right  nobly  stood 
And  wrote  their  fame  in  steel  and  blood, 
From  Virginia's  slopes  to  Georgia's  shore! 

When  the  pillars  of  the  whole  world  shook, 
The  field  the  Irish  soldiers  took: 
The  requiem  now  sobs  and  swells 
For  Anzac,   Scotch,   Canadian, 
For  French  and  for  American  — 
From  Flanders  to  the  Dardanelles! 

"Faithful  always  and  everywhere" 
Was  the  motto  their  fathers  used  to  bear: 
Though  not  always  a  decimated  race 
Torn  by  famine  and  prison  and  steel, 
They  always  heard  the  stranger's  appeal  — 
They  never  stood  in  the  tyrant's  place! 

And  say  ye  that  this  race  is  dead  — 
That  these  famed  Wild  Geese  all  have  fled? 
Forgot  their  ancient,  earned  renown  — 
They  only  sleep  till  the  Judgment  Day, 
Victors  on  fields  of  awful  frayf 
Seek  ye  the  answer  in  Dublin  Town  I 

The  stranger's  cause  has  well  been  fought: 
The  stranger's  liberty  dearly  bought 

[47] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

With  Irish  blood  and  Irish  tears : 

Know  ye,  we  fight  for  our  Motherland, 
And  on  Erin's  shore  we  take  our  stand 

For  those  rights  we  have  fought  for  years ! 

Faugh  a  ballagh,  and  clear  the  way, 
We  are  out  for  Victory  today; 

We  trample  the  olden  bigots  and  lies, 

And  rear  our  standard  of  truth  and  light 
Aloft  above  the  blackness  of  the  night  — 
A  newer  light  is  breaking  in  the  Irish  skies ! 


[48] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER    IRELAND 


Cardinal  Newman 

A  Prince  of  Holy  Church  and  king  among  them  all : 
Brave  brainy  giant  who  could  throw  the  gauntlet 

down 
With  any  savant  who  wore  cap  and  gown  — 

He  left  his  sireland  for  an  island  small  — 

Kind,  noble  Christlike  heart  and  mind  serene; 
That  fellow-men  might  tread  on  learning's  way: 
All  creed  and  color  made  of  common  clay  — 

He  came  to  Dublin  and  Saint  Stephen's  Green! 

Saint  Stephen's  Green  in  Dublin's  heart 
Was  where  a  Churchman  had  his  noblest  dreams: 
There  where  a  scholar  wrote  his  learned  themes  — 
Above  the  city's  din  and  smoke  apart: 
Through  twilight  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  ghost 
like  and  faint, 
He  came  like  some  blessed  vision  to  make  whole 

again; 
To  cure  the  lepers  and  drive  pain  from  writhing 

men  — 
A  pious  scholar  and  a  learned  saint! 

And  then  the  years  crept  on  with  their  reward 
Of  dead  sea  fruit  for  sinners  and  a  life  of  woe: 
Great  Newman  saw  his  scholars  come  and  go, 

And  seeing,  in  his  heart  he  thanked  the  Lord ! 

Those  same  frail  frescoes  that  looked  idly  down 
On  sage  professors  busy  with  their  books  and  class, 
In  later  days  beheld  a  wonder  come  to  pass  — 

A  dream  as  of  Gerontius,  came  in  Dublin  Town! 

[49] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Aye,  once  again  from  East  and  West 

The  foreign  scholars  flocked  to  Erin's  shore 

To  drink  a  draught  of  learning  and  rich  lore  — 

Once  more  the  lights  of  Knowledge  blazed  on  Erin's 
crest! 

After  the  wailing  night  of  persecution,   want   and 

woe  — 

After  the  hedge-school  and  the  hunted  sire, 
One  came  to  Erin  —  lit  a  quenchless  fire; 

Newman's  the  hand  that  set  the  turret  lights  aglow 

The  flame  of  hope  that  seemed  to  flicker  in  the  grease 
Blazed  forth,  as  once  a  Paschal  fire  that  Faith  did 

feed, 

In  liberty  for  every  class   and   any  creed, 
That  blended  green  and  orange  in  the  white  of  com 
mon  Peace! 
Saint  Stephen's  Green  beheld  the  flash  of  gun  and 

battle  scars, 

And  saw  her  sons  for  Mother  Erin  slain  — 
Brave    college    men    that    fought    for    Ireland's 

gain  .    .    . 
While  Newman's  spirit  prayed  among  the  stars! 


[50] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Sons  of  the  Younger  Ireland 

There's  a  grey  college  bordering   Stephen's   Green: 
There's  a  church  just  beside  the  lecture  halls: 

And  there's  vacant  seats  where  the  boys  were  seen 
In  the  busy  classes  and  choir  stalls! 

Full  of  life  and  learning's  every  phase, 

They  were  hopeful  then,  in  my  younger  days. 

There's  a  little  professor  who  used  to  teach 
His  English  class  in  the  afternoons  — 

A  soldier's  heart  with  a  scholar's  reach, 

He  lectured  through  harvests  to  busy  Junes  .    .    . 

But  they  buried  him  since  in  a  Rebel's  grave: 

His  life  for  Erin  and  freedom  he  gave! 

There's  a  brand  new  college  they're  building  at  ease 
Around  the  corner  'long  Earlsfort  way  — 

Where  the  old  Royal  once  conferred  degrees  — 
But  that's  the  tale  of  another  day! 

Mine  be  the  dreams  of  Newman's  domain 

Where  the  souls  of  the  Younger  Ireland  reign ! 

The  sons  of  the  Younger  Ireland  laid 
Their  caps  and  gowns  and  texts  aside, 

And  grasped  the  keen  and  willing  blade  — 

And  manned  machine-guns  with  their  sires'  pride: 

Brave  Arthur  Griffith's  ardent  pen 

Made  hirelings  into  martial  men! 

For  the  unlettered  peasant  with  donkey  and  cart  — 
(Unlettered  because  of  a  stranger's  laws) ; 

[51] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

For  sake  of  a  people  sick  at  heart, 

The  college  men  gave  their  lives  for  the  cause : 
And  surely  no  star  shines  half  as  bright 
As  those  meteor-souls  that  flashed  in  the  night! 

They  sparkled  across   Old  Erin's  ken  — 
The  fiery  crosses  that  blazed  from  afar: 

Foretelling  the  combat  to  red-blooded  men, 
And  heralding  the  morning  star.  .    .    . 

The  dawn  is  breaking  across  the  wrack, 

And  an  army  stirs  in  its  bivouac! 


[52] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


The  Power  of  Blood 

'Tis  said  that  on  the  field  of  Waterloo 

The  prettiest  flowers  spring  from  out  that  fertile 

soil, 

Watered  in  years  agone  by  blood  of  heroes  bold, 
Who  bravely  fell  amid  war's  dread  turmoil  — 
Strange  thought,  that  Flora  should  prefer  that  crim 
soned  mold 
Whereon  to  nourish  flowers  the  fairest  ever  grew! 

There  is  a  power  in  blood  that  all  men  know  — 
'Tis  valued  far  above  earth's  paltry  dross  — 
For  blood  is  potent  where  gold  sickly  shines : 

On  Golgotha  the  Blood  of  Christ  shed  on  the  Cross 
Purchased  a  gift  which  ten  of  Pluto's  mines 
Would  not  have  bought  for  all  their  glittering  show! 

The  fight  for  Freedom  was  begun  in  blood; 

From  Lexington  to  Yorktown  it  ran  red: 
Thank  God,  not  vainly  did  that  life-blood  flow, 

For  Liberty  from  her  secluded  bed 
Came  forth  that  all  the  world  might  know 
That  out  of  evil,  God  distills  good! 

The  Irish  race  has  chafed  beneath  the  chains 

Outworn  and  fastened  by  a  stranger's  hand: 
With  one  brave  effort,  Irishmen 

Have  fought  and  bled,  proclaiming  to  the  land 
That  Liberty  no  longer  seeks  a  glen, 
But  walks  abroad  through  all  the  fertile  plains! 

[53] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Surely  the  blood  that  flowed  in  Dublin's  streets 
When  Easter  bells  were  ringing  holy  peace, 
Will  yield  a  thousand-fold  for  all  the  Gael, 
And  from  the  tyrant's  chains  obtain  release 
For  Motherland,  our  cherished  Granuale   .    .    . 
0  Blood  that  breeds  a  purpose  in  each  heart  that 
beats! 


[54] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Erin,  Saint  Patrick's  Crown  of  Joy 

That  Paschal  fire  once  lit  upon  the  hill  of  Slane 

By  him  who  like  the  Baptist,  feared  not  kings, 
Burns  bright  today  within  the  bosoms  of  the  Gael, 
Unquenched   and  undiminished   by  the  tyrant   reign 
Of  Persecution,  whose  foul  arts  did  fail 

To  pervert  Erin's  children,  safe  neath  Heaven's 
wings! 

Brave  Erin!  patient,  strong,  enduring  all  for  Christ! 
To  earth  thou  lookest  not  for  well-earned  meed: 
The  Tribe  of  Levi  'neath  the  new  regime  of  God 
Art  thou  —  ne'er  wilt  thou  be  enticed 

To  wander  from  the  path  that  Patrick  trod: 
Fidelity  to  Peter  is  thy  creed! 

As  in  thine  olden  days,  scholar  and  saint 

Went  forth  to  bear  glad  tidings  to  a  pagan  world : 
May  thy  anointed  sons  set  out  like  them, 
Keeping  alive  the  fires  of  Faith  lest  they  grow  faint — 
Leading  the  exiled  Celt  into  the  New  Jerusalem — 
Untainted  in  lands  where  o'er  sin's  jagged  cliffs 
all  creed  is  hurled! 

The  reign  of  Anti-christ  sets  in  apace, 
But  Erin  as  of  yore,  a  beacon  bright 
Shall  beam  again  far  o'er  the  shapeless  surge  — 
For  she,  the  Mother  of  a  martyred  race, 

Shall  strive  for  Jesus'  sake  to  heal  and  purge 
A   sin-stained   world   now   settling   in   the   dusk 
of  night! 

[55] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Fair  Bride  of  Christ  and  Mother  of  the  Gael! 

To  thy  Apostle's  wish  ever  firm  and  true: 
He  who  upon  Croagh  Patrick  humbly  knelt; 
Imploring  that  in  Jehosaphat's  dread  vale, 
He  might  be  judge  o'er  his  own  Celt, 

Will  witness  bear  for  thee  before  the  wondering 
nations'  view! 


[56] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER    IRELAND 


My  Fettered  Bride 

Centuries  ago  they  bound  my  love, 
My  own  dear  Rosaleen  Dhu: 

Fettered  her  tender  limbs  with  a  chain  — 
Made  her  walk  through  the  mud  and  the  cheerless 

rain: 

Rejoiced  in  her  sorrow  and  laughed  at  her  pain  — 
The  heartless  Saxon  crew! 

Through  the  times  of  the  cruel  Penal  laws, 
Avourneen,  you  were  bent  to  the  sod: 

Your  priests  were  hunted  and  done  to  death  — 
The  invader  poisoned  Religion's  breath  — 
But  in  spite  of  his  heinous  shibboleth  — 
You  were  faithful  to  your  God  I 

Yes,  they  made  her  drink  a  chalice  of  woe  — 

A  goblet  of  blood  and  tears  — 

Till  she  nearly  died  at  the  dismal  sight  — 
At  the  Famine's  dark  and  dreadful  night  — 
She  mourned  o'er  her  children's  hapless  plight  — 

In  those  pitiful,  heartrending  years! 

Though  they  tore  your  body  and  made  you  weep 
Through   the  years   that  in   anguish   roll  — 
Though  they  placed  you  on  the  torturing  rack, 
And  beat  you  blue  and  beat  you  black, 
And  made  your  children  a  wretched  pack  — 
They  could  not  subdue  your  soul! 

Yes,  the  soul  of  Erin  lives  on  aflame, 

Through  the  rain  and  the  blinding  sleet: 
Soothing  the  wounds  that  pain  and  smart, 
Vivifying  the  weakened  heart, 
Helping  the  body  to  do  its  part  — 
Till  the  world's  pulse  ceases  to  beat! 

[57] 


SONGS    OF    NEWER    IRELAND 


The  Queen's  Harp! 

(Written  en  route  to  the  Azores) 
The  Muses  and  Art  have  both  combined 

To  picture  the  Mother  of  God  and  o'  me: 
But  yet  the  choicest  lags  behind 
The  One  Reality! 

Not  mine  the  power  of  brush  or  pen 
To  portray  you  to  my  fellow-men, 
Sweet,  Gentle  Mother! 

But  tonight,  as  the  wild  wind  roars  aloft, 

And  is  answered  by  the  wilder  sea; 
And  darkness  veils  all  ocean  craft  — 
Stella  Maris,  Ora  pro  me! 
And  let  my  willing  heart  of  clay 
Be  the  harp,  on  which  Thou  tonight  shall  play, 
Queen  of  the  Angels! 

My  thoughts  be  the  music  plaint  and  sweet 

That  proceeds  from  chords  touched  by  Thy  hands: 
Music  that  shall  give  courage  to  faltering  feet, 
To  cheer  me  over  foreign  lands 
Of  earth,  and  desert  wastes  of  sea, 
To  Death  ...   to  Victory  .    .    .   and  to  Thee, 
Fair    Queen    of    Heaven. 


[58] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Bells  of  Sligo  Cathedral. 

O  Bells  of  Sligo  Cathedral 
That  hang  in  a  silvery  chime; 
The  dowry  of  a  maiden  fan- 
Is   the   gift   that   brought   you   joy-bells   there, 
When  Death  claimed  the  maid  in  her  prime: 
Bells  that  peal  out  the  hymns  of  our  olden  Faith, 
In  a  tone  that  is  soft  and  sublime! 

The  sweet  bells  of  Sligo  Cathedral 
Are  chiming  down  boyhood's  way: 
Chiming  softly  again 
Over  snows  and  through  rain; 
Or  when  Summer  and  I  keep  holiday: 
Chiming  up  from  the  vales  to  the  mountains 
That  encircle  Sligo  Bay! 

The  dear  bells  of  Sligo  Cathedral 
Are  calling  the  rising  hour  — 

Boys  in  my  college  of  Summerhill 
Must  arise,  when  the  Angelus  over  Lough  Gill 
Peals  from  the  belfry  tower: 
From  truant  September  to  studious  June, 
Those  bells  wield  a  tyrant's  power! 

The  joy-bells  of  Sligo  Cathedral 
Their  paean  of  peace  outpour: 

"Adeste  Fideles"   when  Knocknarea 
Is  white  from  the  cairn  to  the  sea  — 
And  when  primroses  peep  —  the  Winter  o'er 
Easter  hymns  will  sound  on  the  holy  bells, 
From  Strandhill  to  Aughamore! 

[59] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

Now  the  bells  of  Sligo  Cathedral 
Are  chiming  across  the  years, 
Messages  sacred  of  other  days, 
Calling  me  back  from  my  godless  ways, 
To  the  Lord  of  my  hopes  and  fears: 
Telling  in  silver-toned  accents 

Of  those  dear  days  my  lone  heart  reveres! 


[60] 


SONGS    OF    NEWER    IRELAND 


Lough  Gill 

Killarney  of  the  Northwest. 

Have  you  never  seen  the  gleaming  Lake? 
Then  a  journey,  friend,  you  must  surely  take 
From  Sligo  Town 
To  Cairn  Crown  — 

And  catch  a  glimpse  of  that  vision  rare, 
To  view  the  wooded  islands  fair 
From  the  margin  of  the  brake. 

You  may  sail  through  the  rushes  and  up  the  stream  - 
Up  the  Garavogue  where  the  waters  gleam: 
Through  the  "Narrows" 
Like  trusty  arrows  — 

And  land  on  the  islands  fringed  with  fern: 
Hawthorne  is  the  ashes  —  an  Abbey  the  urn 
Above  the  spot  where  the  old  monks  dream! 

Creevalea  Abbey  near  the  Bonet's  side, 
From  the  isles  through  the  haze  is  faintly  spied: 
And  Breffny's  halls 
Your  spirit  calls  — 
A  ruined  castle  on  a  charming  shore  — 
The  sorrowed  of  Erin,   evermore: 
Once  a  haughty  chieftain's  pride! 

O'er  the  dim  Ox  Mountains  the  moonbeams  peep 
When  Cathedral  chimes  are  lulling  to  sleep 

Far  and  faint 

In  language  quaint  — 

[61] 


SONGS    OF    NEWER    IRELAND 

Then  the  ghostly  Lady  of  the  Lake 
Must  walk  abroad  for  Erin's  sake — 
A  watch  o'er  Breffny,  Dervorgil  must  keep ! 

Alone  in  the  moonlight  you  must  steal 
When  the  islands  are  bare,  and  pilgrims  kneel 
At  Christmastide : 
O'er  the  waters  wide 
A  vision  of  friars  with  habits  white 
Stained  with  their  life-blood  you  must  sight  — 
For  your  ears  the  bells  of  olden  Holy  Cross  will  peal ! 

You  must  see  and  learn  from  sweet  Lough  Gill 
Devotion  that  tyrants  could  not  kill  — 
In  Tubbernault's  well  — 
In  each  Abbey  cell: 
You  must  know  of  a  nation's  tragedy 
That  is  linked  with  the  ruins  of  Breffny  — 
You  must  drink  in  the  beauty  of  valley  and  hill ! 

Have  you  never  seen  the  Gleaming  Lake? 
Then  a  journey,  friend,  you  must  surely  take, 
To   the   fair  Northwest, 
When  the  season's  best: 
From  Hazelwood  or  from  Dooney  Rock 
You  may  feast  your  eyes  on  the  silver  lough — 
Go,  friend,  for  health  and  spirit's  sake! 


[62] 


SONGS    OF    NEWER    IRELAND 


The  Spirit  of  Summerhill 

The  tanned  and  robust  scholars 

Are  flocking  into  town; 
In  from  the  farms  and  the  villages  — 

In  from  the  hills  of  brown: 
Into  Sligo  on  the  River  of  Shells, 

Up  to  the  College  gates, 
Through  the  old  dim  grey  quadrangle, 

To  where  Learning  sits  and  waits. 

Our  Fathers  will  tell  of  a  college 

On   the   Shannon   banks   in   Athlone; 
But  we  are  the  boys  of  a  Summerhill 

That  we're  proud  to  call  our  own! 
What  pathos  and  joy,  what  laughs  and  tears, 

Our  college  cup  can  fill  — 
But  who  shall  know  all  that  the  name  stands  for 

None  save  a  student  of  Summerhill! 

Though  long  .be  the  years  we  are  parted, 

Far  from  hearth  and  homeland  we  roam, 
SUMMERHILL  shall  aye  be  our  talisman  — 

We've  a  pride  in  our  college  home; 
For  those  years  in  the  College  of  Mary 

Have  fitted  us  well  for  the  strife  — 
Gladiators,  that  training  has  made  us, 

To  fight  in  the  arena  of  life! 

Those  tedious  years  of  study 
Have  flown  all  too  soon  — 
Exams,  and  games  are  over, 

[63] 


SONGS    OF    NEWER    IRELAND 

With  the  latter  days  of  June: 
But  our  Alma  Mater  we're  proud  of, 

For  Summerhill  we  stand  — 
She  has  made  us  better  and  stronger 

For  God  and  our  Native  Land! 

AUTHOR'S  NOTE: — Summerhill  College,  Sligo,  Ire 
land,  is  the  Alma  Mater  of  John  McCormack, 
the  noted  Irish  tenor,  and  of  Burke-Coehrane, 
the  famous  lawyer. 


[64] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Daybreak 

Night  came  with  chill  and  bitterness  • 

With  want  and  woe: 
After  the  glory  of  sunset, 

And  the  afterglow: 
Night  beat  with  wings  of  blackness, 

Like  a  harpy  wild  — 
And  blotted  out  the  moonbeams 

From  Erin's  child! 

The  red  went  from  the  sunrise  — 

For  red  was  hate: 
Keen  watchers  woke  the  sleeping 

Hard  by  the  gate: 
The  dawning  flush  was  orange, 

The  trees  were  green: 
But  my  soul  was  in  the  whiteness 

That  lay  between! 


[65] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


Erin's  Easter  Bells 

The  Easter  moon  wore  just  a  haze  of  cloud, 
When  bells  began  to  peal  o'er  hill   and  verdant 

vale — 

'Cross  Banba's  bogs  and  fertile  fields  well  ploughed, 
In  my  dear  Erin  of  the  dauntless  Gael. 
God-sent  peace  then  settled  down 
With  sunrise  over  field  and  town, 
As  Easter  bells  all  softly  told  their  tale! 

What  is  the  message  o'er  hill  and  lea 

This  Easter-tide  that  the  glad  bells  bring? 
What  are  the  tidings  they  carry  to  me, 
At  the  end  of  April's  burthening? 

"They  tell  of  One  that  the  Romans  slew: 

They  tell  of  Life,  resurrected  anew — 
That  Death's  dominion  hath  taken  wing!" 

The  seasons  fade:    the  years  depart: 

The  bells  of  Easter  ring  out  to  the  breeze: 
I  listened  .  .  .  but  sadness  came  on  my  heart.  .  .  . 
They  had  lost  their  olden  witcheries 

"They  toll  for  those  who  loved  too  well 
The  Land  of  Erin :   and  now  the  knell 
Peals  out  for  the  souls  of  these !" 

Still  the  Easter  bells  of  Erin  tolled 

Their  sadness  unto  early  May — 
They  were  slow  friars,  gaunt  and  old — 

Lost  was  their  merry  roundelay: 

[66] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 

But  the  words  of  the  Risen  Christ  came  back 
As  my  soul  lay  on  the  torturing  rack: 
"They  too,  shall  arise  some  day." 

They  laid  Erin's  broken  body  away — 
With    machine-gun    and    cannon    they    sealed   her 

tomb — 

And  they  set  their  soldiers  of  alien  clay 
To  guard  her  in  death  and  doom! 

Like  her  Risen  Lord  did  our  Erin  arise 
And  cast  her  chains  to  the  utmost  skies — 
While  Easter  bells  chime,  there  shall  be  no  gloom! 

Again  Eegina  Coeli  chimes 

And  Alleluias  are  heard  once  more — 
How  changed  these  days  in  Erin's  times, 
A  sentry  guards  her  island  door: 

He  wears   a  trusty  bandolier: 
He  is  an  Irish  Volunteer — 
The  death-cap  and  dungeon  are  ancient  lore! 

Aye,  the  Bells  of  Easter  peal  far  and  wide: 

They  who  were  slain,  rise  again: 
Resurrection  for  those  who  nobly  died 
In  a  barrack-yard,  in  the  Stranger's  jail: 
Love  is  rewarded  and  duty  done: 
A  hundred  flock,  where  before  was  one — 
The  Easter  Bells  are  our  Holy  Grail! 


[67] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


L'Envoi 

The  Ireland  that  bowed  to  wrongs  and  woes, 

Has  passed  from  beyond  our  ken: 
The  freshness  of  morning  has  gladdened  our  hearts: 
The  Easter  Week  heroes  have  taught  us  our  parts — 

In  our  ranks  are  pure  women  and  men! 

ARISE!     Ye  sons  of  the  martyred  dead — 

Let  the  Irish  banshee  wail; 
For  I've  heard  her  a-keening  in  crowded  towns, 
And  o'er  lonely  bogs  and  on  quiet  downs — 

Whisper,  and  list  to   the  gale! 

Are  your  ears  made  of  stone  that  ye  hear  not  the 

tread 

Of  legions  of  men  clad  in  green — 
The  Shawneens  they  cringe  as  they  call  on  their  king : 
The  staunch  "Soldier's  Song"  we  shall  live  by  and 

sing— 
Ah,  well  may  the  Sassenach  keen! 

FORWARD!     Ye  children  of  Easter  Week— 

They  shall  feel  the  strength  of  Irish  steel: 
For  I've  seen  the  blush  in  cheeks  that  were  snow: 
The  old  men  are  straight  and  the  children  grow — 
All  shall  work  for  the  Gaelic  weal! 

There  are  wheels  to  be  turned  and  meal  to  be  ground — 

For  the  Children  of  Banba  increase! 
Brain  and  brawn  has  each  its  own  portion  to  do — 

[68] 


SONGS    OF   NEWER   IRELAND 


We  have  mourned  for  the  Old,  let  us  welcome  the 

New — 
Our  penance  has  changed  into  peace! 

TO  VICTORY!    Too  long  has  the  Tyrant  reigned— 
He  has  ground  us  to  dust  'neath  his  heel  of  mail: 
Thank  God,  that  the  Sassenach's  day  is  done — 
The  Vision  is  Life,  and  the  battle's  near  won — 
Onward  for  Innisfail! 

WILLIAM  A  MILLEN. 


[69] 


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